Growing up, if I saw a bunch of Balikbayan boxes, rolls of packaging tape and rope, black sharpies at the ready, cartons of cigarettes, packets of instant ramen, and bags of chocolate candies and gum in my living room, it could only mean one thing…we were going to the Philippines! My parents would take our family to the Philippines every 3 or 4 years, from the time I was 5 years old until I was 19. We would stay for 3 weeks at a time, often missing a few days of school. Our trips were filled mostly with family time, house hopping from cousin to cousin, and a few shopping days here and there. We didn’t venture much outside of Manila, except for one time my parents let my older cousins take us to the beach for a day. We took tricycles and jeepneys, watched local television programs, listened to the radio that played both local and American artists, went to the markets, played outside in the streets, bathed in the rain, drank soda from a plastic bag with a straw in it, and when we got older, drank San Miguels like the locals did. We stayed long enough to get to know the neighborhood kids, become pen pals, develop a few crushes, and often revisited them whenever we’d come back. For those 3 weeks, my cousins became my siblings and playmates, my aunts and uncles were second parents to us, and the bond between us only grew stronger each time we came back. My parents completely immersed us into the cultural experience, and I did not realize until this last trip how extremely fortunate we are that they did just that.
It had been 25 years since my last trip to the Philippines. I was a sophomore in college, so the main focus of a typical 19 year old were “gimmicks” (Filipino slang for going out to the bars) with my cousins, sneaking cigarettes, playing drinking games, checking out guys (close enough so they notice me, but far away enough to shield me from a shotgun wedding), and shopping (because clothes just fit me better there). As always, it was a blast. But I knew a trip there as a 44 year old would be a much different experience than my last visit. My family here is older, our joints are more achey, we’ve multiplied, and we’re whiter (29% whiter for all you numbers people). Our family of 5 became a family of 14, and 8 of them had never been to the Philippines. That alone is a recipe for adventure, maybe some diarrhea, and a million great stories.
The first challenge was the preparation for this trip. I’m a mom now, so those days of watching my parents pack for me and fight over how much spam to bring back are long gone. And the trip was not just visiting family in Manila like before; it was also going to be a mix of visiting new islands, sight-seeing, and going on excursions too. Now I had to be the one to figure out how much clothes to bring, what medications to buy, how much bug spray and sunblock is too much (answer: never too much), and what we were going to have all the newbies in our group experience. My relaxing Worldle time on the toilet was replaced by writing pages-long packing lists for a 2 week trip, google searches on hotels and excursions, and where the malaria risks were highest. The process was stressful, and likely the start of hemorrhoids. I should probably opt for sitting at a desk rather than on a toilet the next time I plan a trip.
To add to the madness, we were planning this trip during the Christmas season. I was flipping between packing lists, itineraries, Christmas gift lists, and recipes to prep for Christmas celebrations. Since we were leaving on Christmas Day, I wanted the decorations to be put up early so the kids could enjoy it long enough. Downstairs looked like Christmas, while upstairs looked like a backroom at O’Hare Airport where luggage goes to die. I was very overwhelmed, but to see Jamie and the kids excited about Christmas and the upcoming trip made it all so worth it….totally kidding…it infuriated me because I was doing the majority of the work while these ding-dongs had no clue what was happening and were just going for the ride. Oh, the life of a mom.
Perhaps the most important part of the preparations was informing Jamie and the kids about some of the cultural nuances and expectations: respect is important, so “mano” everyone (bringing an elder’s hand to your forehead for a blessing); food is a love language, so try everything, even if it still has its eyeball or snout showing; ask for bottled or filtered water everywhere and bottled or canned soda; don’t use the ice unless they say it’s filtered and you believe them; prep your quads for bathroom squats over the toilet, as toilet seats were optional; be ready for a BYOTP policy (bring your own toilet paper), as the “tabo” (small bucket that functions as a bidet) was a preferred method of cleaning (which would definitely explain the wetness of the bathrooms); and if the toilet doesn’t flush, you’ll have to learn how to flush it manually. Their eyes grew wide and nervous, and I was just like, “Yo, this is going to be amazing, you’ll see!” My little Americanized group was going to be introduced to a whole new world, and I just couldn’t wait to see all of their “Philippines firsts”.
Christmas morning came and went in the blink of an eye, and before we knew it, I was yelling at the kids to put away their presents, hop in the shower, and get ready for a 20+ hour flight experience. Our pooch was at the boarding facility, our shades were pulled down, water was shut off, doors were locked, and we said goodbye to our first-world luxuries. It didn’t even feel like Christmas for the rest of the day, just the start of a vacation. We met up with my sister’s family at the airport and played games at the gate as we anxiously awaited the first leg of our flight. The flight to San Francisco was a breeze, and even the 5 hour layover went by quickly. Then came the 14 hour flight to Manila. Evan was living his best life, switching between video games, watching any movie he chose, and napping, while I struggled to pull an hour of sleep. Jamie and Reese managed to get more sleep than me, but also looked relatively uncomfortable. We all wore N95 masks the whole way there because I wasn’t about to risk getting sick and spending this vacation quarantined in a hotel. To be quite honest, no human can hold in a fart for 14 hours, so you feel a little less guilty for quietly letting them out on a full plane when you can’t actually smell them because of the mask you’re wearing, and you can always blame people near you that look far more farty than you. I mean, that’s what I heard anyway.
I can’t begin to describe the feeling in my gut when the plane landed in Manila (it definitely wasn’t gas…see above). I could not believe we were actually in the Philippines, that this was actually happening with my husband and kids. The airport was nothing like I remembered; it was more modern and developed. There used to be beggar kids lined up along the fence line outside the airport, but none of that was there anymore. It was unrecognizable. The immigration line was still long, but that’s to be expected anywhere you go. And then there she was…my cousin, Agnes. She greeted us at the airport with my dad (who arrived with my mom and brother’s family the night before). She was a constant in every memory I had of the Philippines. We hugged and kissed, I introduced her to Jamie and the kids, my kids mano’d her like we practiced, and I already knew that this trip was going to be amazing.
Our eyes were peeled on the scenery of the city during our drive from the airport to the hotel. I told Jamie and the kids to pay attention to the skilled driving and how 2 lanes can easily become 4. I pointed out jeepneys and tricycles, and how big malls are very popular and can be found just a few blocks away from shanties. It was a short drive through Metro Manila, but they could already tell we weren’t in Kansas anymore.
We arrived at the City of Dreams Hotel in Manila, and it was a beautiful gold colored building. We never stayed at a hotel in the Philippines before, except for one time for a few days with my cousins, who were surprised by the hot water from a running shower and thought the air conditioning was way too cold. We had to walk through security for this hotel, and surrounding the building were guards armed with assault rifles. That felt very unsettling for us, but everyone else around seemed unfazed. The rooms were spacious and clean, the pool was large and perfect for the kids, and I thought, “What the hell is this? I slept on the floor of my uncle’s house for 3 weeks at a time and we played in the rain and used a bucket to bathe ourselves, while my kids get this luxury hotel with a pool and all the filtered water and ice you can ask for? These kids have no idea how lucky they are!”
As excited as I was to be there, I was tired as hell and wanted so badly to sleep. Jamie and I sat at the pool while the kids swam, fighting our fatigue and jet lag, and you better believe we passed out on the reclined chairs, mouths opened and all. We woke up to rain drops, moved under the umbrella, and went vacation mode with my brother and sisters. Beers and halo-halos were ordered while the kids swam in the rain with their cousins, and we all got our second winds. The energy fleeted quickly, though, and after a dinner where Evan fell asleep at the table, we were in bed early for the next day’s flight.
Yep, that’s right, we were on a plane yet again. Bright and early at 6am, we were at the airport awaiting our flight to Palawan. I have never been anywhere other than Luzon (one of the main islands), so to be traveling to a brand new island was exciting. The resort in Puerto Princesa was nice and the food was excellent. Jamie doesn’t like pancit (Filipino noodle dish) very much, but here in the Philippines he couldn’t get enough. We indulged, had lots of pancit, pork sisig, garlic rice, seafood, soups, chicken made 3 different ways, and fresh fruit smoothies and halo-halos with ice that didn’t give us diarrhea. Everyone was in heaven, and that was just lunch. We visited the boardwalk, where we saw small stalls where people sold various clothes, accessories and toys, waved off vendors walking around selling jewelry, and walked by kiosks where all sorts of foods were sold, anything from “balut” (fertilized duck egg) to barbecue sticks. The sea breeze cooled our sweaty skin. Dinner was delicious, as expected, but was not the most memorable part of the night. My animal-loving brother-in-law committed a dining mortal sin: he fed a stray dog. He just couldn’t help himself. Soon that dog found him (large white guy, can’t miss him), and brought with her a random cat, and they would not leave the table. They parked themselves at our feet under the table, and all I could think of were rabies and fleas. I said, “Feet up, everyone!” We scooted ourselves out of the bench in what felt like a crab walk, making sure to keep our feet away from the hungry animals, and I promise that was the last time anyone fed a stray. Live and learn.
We stayed in Palawan for only 3 short days, but we packed in as much as possible to make our stay worthwhile. We took many small motor boats, which was always an adventure to get my parents onto safely. We visited the Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park, which was named one of the new 7 Wonders of Nature. We canoed through a majestic cave full of bats, one which shit on my germaphobic husband (you can imagine how that went), boated through the mangroves, saw long tailed monkeys up close, one which stole my niece’s water bottle and drank from it (opposable thumbs at their best), zip lined over the ocean, which was terrifying and breathtaking at the same time, went spelunking through caves (even my parents went for a bit until the terrain got a little too challenging), and zip lined again over the lush greenery. Jamie and the kids experienced no running water in the bathrooms, and I had to teach Reese how to manually flush a toilet (I actually failed at it after 2 attempts, so the next step was to quickly run out of the bathroom before anyone saw the culprits). We went island hopping, snorkeling, drank coconut juice straight from the coconuts and then scraped the flesh using part of the coconut husk as a spoon, swam in the warm Sulu Sea, and took in all the scenery of island life. The 6 kids even challenged some local teenagers to a beach volleyball game, while we watched with pride. We could not ask for better weather, calmer seas, and a day full of fun activities.
Back at the resort area, we also had the chance to ride tricycles, which are motorbikes with attached sidecars. It is the best way to see the city up close, especially since the drivers took a few backroads to get us around safely. The driving there can be scary, and there were times you just have to close your eyes and pray. The kids thought it was cool, while I felt like it was a lot more dangerous than I remember as a kid, and the one ride was enough. Jamie used his leg as a door, since there were a few bumps where I thought my niece would fly out of the sidecar, so I think he was happy he didn’t get his leg accidentally amputated. I’m guessing one ride was enough for him too.
Palawan was fun while it lasted, truly beautiful and adventure-filled, but alas, we were on a jet plane yet again heading back to Manila. No rest for the weary, as we packed our belongings up and headed to my cousin’s house for a New Year’s Eve overnight stay. Before the long commute, we stopped by the mall for a quick bite to eat. This was Jamie’s and the kids’ chance to eat at Jollibee, which is the Philippines’ most popular fast food chain. I’ve eaten there before, so my sister and I decided to leave the rest of the group and join my parents at another restaurant. Before I left, I asked Jamie if he’d be okay ordering and having me leave him, and he said he was fine. As I was eating my food and drinking my bottled water, I thought to myself, “Shit, what did he order them to drink?” I quickly texted him to not forget to order only bottled water or canned soda. He texted back and said they were out of bottled water, so he ordered them cokes. I felt better for a millisecond, but then asked if it was canned. It was not. I immediately told them to stop drinking all wet things. Too late. Evan and Reese had already drank a little bit of it. I went downstairs to Jollibee to check on them, and THIS GUY let them drink a fountain drink(which is probably mixed with tap water) WITH ICE. I asked, “Did you ask if this ice was filtered?” Jamie said no. I don’t know how many times I told Jamie and the kids the stories of diarrhea I had when I ordered drinks with ice in the Philippines, and yet none of that came to mind when he was ordering his chicken joy with gravy. To no one’s surprise, Reese had the shits and went twice within the next 15 minutes. Luckily it did not hit Evan in the same way. The commute to my cousin’s house was going to be 1-2 hoursand my kid had the shits. You can imagine the sweat draining from my armpits and the “are you fucking serious” looks I was shooting at Jamie. I prayed to all the probiotic gods, “Please plug my kid up quickly.” Reese fell asleep on the ride there, and thankfully woke up with clean pants. No fountain drinks or unfiltered ice were consumed after that incident.
We first stopped at our uncle’s house in Taytay, which is kind of like a suburb just outside of Manila. This was the house that we spent the majority of the time in when we were kids. Driving through the neighborhood was the real Philippines, not the resort version my family was experiencing thus far. It was so nostalgic; the sari sari stores, the little chapel on the corner, the familiar neighboring homes. There used to be a field across from the house, but now it has been developed into another subdivision of homes and condos. The street that used to be our playground was now a steady stream of traffic. Neighbors who became friends had grown up and moved away. Even my uncle’s home was different; new expansions were built, the chicken and pigeon coops on the side of the house were now their garage and grilling areas (they didn’t even have a car the last time I was there), their laundry area was now a hang out for their pet duck, they had a running shower and a flushing toilet, and their front yard was now a store. I walked through the house with Jamie and the kids, pointing out where we slept, ate, played, and even where we got haunted by my grandfather the last time we were there. Though some things were different, it still had the same family feel. The kids looked around at all the decorations and noticed the altar, as they are not used to so many religious relics in the house, other than the one they see at my parents’ house. My nephew asked if Obi-Wan Kenobi was a saint, and I actually don’t think he was kidding. He was pointing to a statue that was either Jesus or a Filipino saint in a Jedi-looking robe. We all moved a couple of feet away from him, just in case lightning struck down at that moment.
I introduced my crew to so many of their aunts, uncles and cousins, too many to count. So many relatives traveled long distances just to see us and celebrate the new year. I know Jamie and the kids were overwhelmed with all the new faces and names, so they just sat back quietly and watched me as I laughed and hugged my cousins. We shared stories of what we did there growing up. My cousins would tell them that I was a bully when I was a kid and fought with them all the time, but eventually became their buddies. I prefer the version that I was a misunderstood jet-lagged child with a budding sense of sarcasm that was only funny to adults because the digs were not directed towards them. My kids believed my cousins’ version. Jamie just said I was pretty and walked away.
My cousins prepared a feast for us for lunch and the Noche Buena celebration (meal after the countdown). They ordered a whole lechon (roasted pig), and had enough dishes to feed 20 families for a week. My kids took naps so they could be awake for the midnight countdown. I fought the fatigue by snacking on all the “pulutan” (appetizers you eat while you drink), which only made me sleepier. But my time with my Philippines family was so limited, I didn’t want to waste it on sleep. As midnight approached, we woke up all the sleeping “statesiders” and went up to my cousin’s rooftop deck. We were in awe of all the fireworks going off at every turn. We had the view of all of Metro Manila, and there were fireworks up close and far away, not a piece of sky in darkness. It was like the 4th of July on steroids, and it went on for hours. We even lit our own fireworks off the roof, which was definitely a first for Jamie and the kids. When our lungs couldn’t handle the smoke any longer, we headed back down for the feast. We ate and drank until we nearly burst. The kids even started playing various games, which may or may not have involved some drinking, which quickly came to an end when Reese five-starred Evan in the back (an open-handed slap on the back that would leave a mark of your hand) and knocked him across the room, leaving him weeping in the corner. That was just great, they were really making a positive impression on my Philippines family. The kids finally surrendered to bed by 3am. Jamie tried his best to stay awake with me, my siblings, and cousins, but eventually passed out in a chair (combo of fatigue and booze). We had our cousin time, catching up and belly laughing at all our childhood stories. By 5:30 am, I had been awake for more than 24 hours and finally gave in to sleep.
I was relieved to wake up the next morning not having seen any ghosts (if you’ve ever been in the Philippines, you know how legit that concern is). I was so certain my dead grandparents were going to make an appearance because they’d be so happy we were all together, but thank goodness they didn’t (or maybe I had enough to drink to not have noticed). I said some sad goodbyes to relatives I was not going to see again during this visit, which is always so difficult. But it was both goodbye and thank you, because they went out of their ways to come see us just for a short time, and that’s what families do.
After having our coffee and trying a few native fruits, we hurried off to our next family visit at a restaurant in our hotel. More cousins who were unable to see us the night before came out for lunch. They commuted for hours just to meet us for a quick lunch, which really goes to show how special this bond between cousins has become through the years. I met my grandnephew (my nephew’s child), and my kids were so excited to know they were an aunt and uncle to this little boy. I met more of my nieces and nephews, who I have only seen before on Facebook. My niece wanted so badly to talk to her American cousins, but she was feeling shy. So I brought her over to the stateside kids’ table, hoping my kids and nieces and nephews would talk to her. They were all an awkward bunch of teens and preteens. I tried to talk their lingo and convince them I was “chill” like they were, and they just rolled their eyes at me. Though I was pretty much failing at making the kids talk to each other, they did what they do best and exchanged social media info. At least now they can keep in touch with family from across the world and can collectively agree that I am not chill.
The fatigue I was feeling was super deep, and I was looking forward to a morning where I could sleep in. That was not happening anytime soon. The following day we were up early again for the next excursion. We visited Pagsanjan Falls, where we sat in canoes while 2 boatmen took us upstream through rapids to a few waterfalls. The main waterfall was closed off due to water levels being too high and dangerous. I was bummed about it and wanted to try to convince them to take us there, which is ironic and stupid because I really can’t swim well and had no desire to die on this trip. But once I sat in the canoe and saw how even an aggressive burp would throw us out of the boat, I was cool with skipping the dangerous waters. This river ride was wild, with beautiful scenery that often made it feel like we were in Jurassic Park. The river water was murky, and soon I had regretted seeing a few episodes of “River Monsters” and “Catching Monsters,” and prayed we didn’t fall out of the canoe. When we approached the rapids, our boatmen got out of the boats and started pushing and pulling, maneuvering the canoe through the rough waters, often using their bare feet against rocks as oars. That was the most jungly thing I’ve ever seen, and I was impressed, amused and in awe of their strength. At the largest available waterfall, everyone except my parents hopped onto a raft made out of bamboo, which felt like it was barely afloat, while 2 men pulled us alongside the waterfall by rope so we could all get drenched. We were screaming with delight as the cold water of the waterfall soaked us. This river ride was like nothing any of us ever experienced, even my parents loved it. It was exhilarating.
The days to follow were finally slower-paced and came just as we were no longer jet-lagged. We had lunch with my dad’s high school classmates, where he introduced each one of us with pride, visited our family and friends in the neighborhood my dad grew up in, and finished most nights with swimming at the resort. We chose a free morning and afternoon to walk through Luneta Park, which felt like Manila’s version of New York’s Central Park, took a “kalesa” ride (horse-drawn carriage) through then Spanished-ruled historical old Manila called Intramuros (“within the walls”), and saw lots of the colleges, where students still have to wear uniforms even if they attend public schools. My parents pointed out places they would go to for dates, the church where they got married, and areas under the bridges where they would shop for Philippine crafted specialties. We were even stopped in traffic because a random parade was passing through, which had several floats adorning a black Jesus statue. We watched as people walked by the parade, touching the “Black Nazarene” statue, as it is believed to lead to healing. I then remembered that when I got sick with cancer, my cousin in the Philippines told me that they were going to pray to the “Black Nazarene” for my healing and recovery, and it felt like a full circle moment for me. No one honked their horns or grew impatient at this long pause in traffic, as it was just expected and accepted that religious festivals pass through whenever they want and are respected.
Jamie and I ventured out in my cousins’ neighborhood one free afternoon and had a Thai massage, while my sister and the girls got their nails done. Jamie and I had no idea what we were signing up for, but we did notice a sign in the massage parlor that said, “While we provide excellent customer service, we do not provide “special” services.” OMG, I guess ‘happy endings’ are really a thing, but thankfully not at this place (I hope). They placed us on mats on the floor beside each other (so that I could protect Jamie). We had no idea if we were supposed to take our clothes off or not. This was not an essential oils and soft music situation we were in; we were just in a dark room on the floor with a curtain partition, and I was sweaty and far from relaxed. Two small Filipinas walked in, and I heard one gasp when she saw Jamie was white. They told us to take off our clothes down to our undies, and then just started beating the shit out of us. I normally can take hard pressure, but I had to tell her to ease up on me. At one point, she twisted my back so hard and fast, I literally squealed, “Oh shit!” They were pushing and pulling, pounding and kneading, cracking our backs, pulling our limbs out of their sockets, pulling our hair, and I couldn’t help but wonder if we should establish a safe word. During 2 instances, Jamie’s massage therapist abruptly walked out of the room and sounded like she was gagging. He was convinced it was because she was stretching his hamstrings at a very intimate range (i.e. face in his crotch) and his undercarriage was not so fresh after a long day in Manila with no air conditioning. I’m pretty sure she was just washing oil off her hands, but it’s more fun to let him believe his version. Although my massage therapist also walked out twice and she wasn’t gagging, so maybe it was too much of his “singit” stank for her to handle. Overall, even though we got a Philippine beat down, I think I kind of mostly liked the massage experience, but Jamie did not; you can draw whatever conclusions you want from that.
You can’t really go to the Philippines and not shop, even if you don’t like shopping. It’s kind of a pastime there. We did our fair share of shopping, both at Mall of Asia and Greenhills. Mall of Asia was a total fail, as it was so enormous and we couldn’t get from one store to another without using our map app on our phones to figure out how to get there. Greenhills was a whole different ball game though; it is this crazy crowded mall area filled with kiosks and stalls where bargaining is a must. Before we arrived, my mom coached all the non-Tagalog speakers on key phrases to say, like “Makano ito” (how much is this), and then no matter what the price, to respond, “Ay, ang mahal” (wow, that’s too much). Jamie only knows things like, “Mahal kita” (I love you), “kili killi” (armpit), and “Mount Pinatubo” (the name of a Philippine volcano). So for Jamie to call a vendor by the name of a volcano and tell her that he loves her armpit would probably not get him the best deals, but I sure would have paid money to watch him say it. He’d probably go in asking how much and then give them 500 pesos more. No matter what my mom told us, no verbal explanations would have prepared us for what we were actually walking into. Vendors would find the most vulnerable prey (definitely us, as we probably look like walking American flags to them), and would pull us into their stalls. Then they would tell us things like, “Oh for you, let me show you my special collection. High quality.” They took us into their secret rooms or pulled a curtain and showed their secret stash of extra goods, and we couldn’t even wrap our heads around what the fuck was happening. My head was spinning. I left the shopping part to Jamie and the kids and kept the fun negotiating stuff to me. I actually hate shopping, but the bargaining part was fun. I bought a few things that I wasn’t even sure I wanted, just so I could bargain and see how much lower I could get the prices down. At one point, I was looking at some shoes, and Jamie started pushing me and telling me in a very panicked manner that we had to leave right now. I didn’t know what was happening, so I just threw the shoes at the vendor and we ran away. I asked him what the matter was, I thought maybe someone was following us or he had to take an emergency shit. He said he saw a rat walking through the shelf of shoes I was reaching into and he thought it might jump into one of our bags. He basically saved my life; I can handle dangerous people, but I just can’t with bugs and rodents. And yes, I washed and disinfected everything we bought there. The Greenhills shopping experience was wild, plenty of fun things to look at and buy, and even offered a complimentary rat for current or take home viewing. Because it was so different from your average trip to the mall, we all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.
And speaking bugs and rodents, it is impossible to vacation in the Philippines and not see “ipis” (cockroaches). Some are huge, some are small, some fly, but they ALL are after me and have evil intentions to eat away at my food and my fragile mental health. One night, we were too tired to eat at the restaurants, so my siblings and I opted to order take out and eat in my room. 12 people in a hotel room is a lot, but we managed to find space. As we were eating and watching a professional Philippine volleyball game on tv, Reese pointed at the counter and said, “WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS CRAWLING OVER THERE?” And fuck me sideways, we had a cockroach in our room. OMG I was dying. My brother was closest to it, but he leisurely tried to locate it and didn’t kill it. I was like, what the hell kind of Filipino is this guy? You’re supposed to take off your tsinelas (flip flop) and chase that fucker around until you swat it dead. He did no such thing. I panicked. I said a silent prayer, “Please God, let this ipis be an orphan and have no family with it. Let it not crawl all over our belongings. Let it soon die a quick tsinelas death.” It reared its ugly head again, and still my brother did not kill it, and I was convinced my brother hated me. My siblings and the kids were just laughing at my irrational reaction and made things worse, telling me that ipis would be crawling all over us in our sleep and they’d be in our luggage and we’d be taking them all home with us. The next night, they ate in my room again, and I’m just thinking, “Wow everyone just wants me to die of a nervous breakdown. Why are we providing a nice little buffet for this lone ipis?” Eventually a day or 2 later, I found it trying to get into our fridge, took off my tsinelas with the quickness, and killed a bitch. But you better believe I continued to check under our sheets every night, washed all of our clothes as soon as we got home and left all the luggages out in the garage just in case we had a few stow aways. Ugh, ipis, how you torment me so!
Reese managed to take advantage of my vulnerable mindset, as the thought of ipis now infested my brain, and asked if she could pamper herself a bit and get a new hairstyle with her older cousin. I was fine with it, but Jamie was getting all sentimental, not wanting his baby girl looking like a teenager. He stroked her head and said, “Oh how I’ll miss your shiny baby hair and your innocent look.” Insert eye roll from both Newton ladies. Though she didn’t want to disappoint her dad, she also wanted to feel a little more grown up. She and my niece went through with it and got haircuts and highlights, and Reese sweetly saved a few strands of her natural untouched hair for her daddy. Of course when she handed the lock of hair to him, he was like, “Eww gross get that off of me.” So that sentiment was short-lived. The 2 girls came out of the salon looking like Filipina actresses, and I knew Reese would be coming home all tanned with her new do feeling good about herself. My sister and I regretted not doing the same for ourselves, opting instead to come home looking like tired, old, stuffed sausages in our now tighter clothes.
We filled our time in the Philippines with family visits, sight-seeing, island hopping, lots of eating, and shopping, but my favorite highlight was our adult night out with our cousins. We left the littles with my parents at the hotel, and took Grabs (the Uber of the Philippines) to a bar to meet up with many of my cousins. My college-aged niece and nephew came with, so that was oddly fun to party with humans whose diapers I’ve changed. We chose a bar that wasn’t too crowded and had a live band, and it felt like we had the place to ourselves. We drank a lot, ate, laughed, took a shit ton of pictures, laughed some more, and sang and danced all night. The band asked if anyone wanted to come up and sing with them, and my just drunk enough hottie of a husband volunteered. As he was approaching the stage, the lead singer said, “Wow, you are so white!” which was neither a compliment nor an insult (because he is on the whiter side of white), but funny all the same. Jamie sang “Take On Me” like a fucking rock star, and I was his biggest fan. My cousins were losing their shit, and he had us on our feet dancing and singing along. He hit those high notes like the 80’s hair band demigod he wishes he was, and yes, his balls eventually came back down to earth. At the end of the song, he yelled out “ACOSTA!”, which is our family name, and it was the exclamation point to a perfect night. We closed our tab, closed the bar, and ended our night. I felt like a kid again, like the kid that always came back to the Philippines every 3 years. My cheeks hurt from all the laughing and my feet hurt from all the dancing. I was so incredibly happy, so grateful to have us all together again. But it ended on a sad note as we said our goodbyes. Many things were said, like “Come visit America next” and “Don’t wait another 25 years to come back.” I held back tears, as I wanted the night be remembered as a joyful one. We hopped into our Grabs with full and breaking hearts.
Our 2 week trip ended way too quickly, and the kids were begging for more time there and a million more vacations like this one (Lola, Japan?). They said this was the best vacation they ever had, and those words meant so much to me. I wanted this time in the Philippines to leave a mark on their hearts, and I actually think we achieved that. I had so many hopes for my family during this vacation: I wanted all of us to see the various faces of the Philippines, including the countryside, the beaches, and the city that is mixed with poverty and modern development; I wanted all of us to eat real authentic Filipino foods, including “balut” (yeah, I think I sprouted a duck feather after I ate one); I wanted them to feel the near-death experience that is their traffic, so that they’d stop accusing me of being a bad driver; most of all, I wanted them to meet my family and to know that they have a part of them in a country thousands of miles away. With a fruitful number of “Philippine firsts,” some of the most amazing eating, a total immersion of Philippine culture, minimal bouts of diarrhea, only one incident of Evan almost getting run over by a jeepney, no kidnapping of any of the white and half white people, and 2 weeks straight of family time with members old and new, I’d say we had a trip of a lifetime. Just like my parents did for me decades ago, this was my chance to plant cultural roots for my kids, ones that I hope will call to them someday. May they always know they have a place in the Philippines, and that their family will always take them under their roof.
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To my parents, thank you for making this bucket-list vacation a reality. We are eternally grateful! To my family in the Philippines, I love you and miss you dearly. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking care of us and showing us a good time like you always do.
The Mundame 